A SURPRISE
Tracey, in the interests of the lovers, continued to live in the
cottage at Hampstead. Webb had let him the house furnished, and Luther
made himself comfortable in a bachelor fashion. He cooked his own
meals, and made his own bed, and kept the house as neat as a new pin.
One day Gerty came to see him, accompanied by her mother. How she
induced that lymphatic woman to come was a mystery. Tracey was not
easily astonished, but he was fairly taken aback when he saw stout
Mrs. Baldwin being towed up the path by Gerty. It was like a
breathless steam-tug conducting a three-decker out of port.
"What I've suffered," said Mrs. Baldwin, sinking into a basket-chair
which almost collapsed under her weight, "no one can understand."
"Oh come, mother," said Gerty cheerfully, "you had a cab to the top of
the hill, and my arm to the door."
"You are nothing to lean upon," sighed Mrs. Baldwin. "If it was Rufus,
now. He had an arm like a blacksmith, and the soul of a poet."
Tracey giggled. He was amused by Mrs. Baldwin's whimsical ways. "Will
you tell me what brought you here?" he asked, with his arm round
Gerty.
"You may well ask that," said Mrs. Baldwin, fanning herself with her
handkerchief; "and if you have such a thing as wine----"
"Only whisky--old Bourbon," snapped Luther, and supplied Mrs. Baldwin
with a brimming glass in spite of her asseveration that she never took
such strong drink. If not, she appreciated it, and finished the glass
while talking.
"Gerty must tell you what I want," she said, nursing the glass.
Luther turned to his fiancée with an inquiring look. Something very
strange must have occurred to bring Mrs. Baldwin so far.
"Mother is upset," said Gerty: "she fancies she saw her husband."
"My second," explained Mrs. Baldwin. "Not Gerty's father, who was a
gentleman, but Rufus."
"The man with the blacksmith's arm and poet's soul," said Luther. "I
thought he was dead and buried long ago."
"No," said the old lady. "I have never seen any announcement of his
death. He is alive, and I saw him. Two nights ago I was reclining in
the parlour, trying to soothe my nerves with a novel. Rufus appeared
at the window, which was open, the night being warm. I shrieked aloud
at the sight of his face. He ran away," finished Mrs. Baldwin,
sighing.
"Didn't you light out after him?"
"I went out to rebuke him for his desertion of the twins. But he was
gone like a dream. I have come to you to ask if you will advertise for
Rufus. Assure him that all will be forgotten."
"Is there anything to forget?" asked Gerty.
Mrs. Baldwin suddenly sat up with energy, and her eyes glittered. No
one would have thought that she possessed such spirit. "Yes," she
said, in a hard voice, "there is much to forget. Rufus treated me like
a brute. He always was a brute."
"Then why do you wish to forgive him?"
"Because I do," said Mrs. Baldwin doggedly.
"Were I you," said Luther, after a pause, "I would leave the cuss
alone. Think of your children."
"I want him back," said Mrs. Baldwin, and softened her tone. "All will
be forgiven and forgotten."
But, even as she said this, Tracey saw a nasty glitter in her eye.
He was not so sure that Mrs. Baldwin was actuated by Christian
intentions in wanting her lost husband back. In spite of her apparent
good-nature, she was petty and spiteful. It might be, that she wished
her husband back to make things hot for him. "Tell me really why you
wish him to return?" said Luther.
Mrs. Baldwin breathed hard, and looked at her daughter. "Send Gerty
out of the room," she said suddenly, and forthwith this was done. When
alone with Tracey, who was more puzzled than ever, Mrs. Baldwin again
became energetic. "There was a diamond necklace," she said.
"Ah," replied the American, whistling; "I see, Rufus nabbed it?"
Mrs. Baldwin took no notice. "I want my necklace back," she said; "it
was given to me by Gerty's father, and I intend to present her with it
on her wedding-day. You are to marry her, Mr. Tracey; so if you want
Gerty to look a lady, as she always is, you will catch Rufus, and make
him give up the necklace."
Tracey smiled, and shook his head. "It's not to be done, Mrs. Baldwin.
Your husband's been gone for years, and the necklace has long ago been
sold. Besides, you would have to prosecute him. Think of the children,
ma'am."
"I want back my diamond necklace," said Mrs. Baldwin, who was like a
very obstinate child. "Oh, how I hated that man!" In her rage she
forgot her pretended weakness. "Mr. Tracey," she rose to her feet in a
kind of cold fury, worthy of Mrs. Fane, "Rufus was a brute. Why I
married him I don't know. He said he had money, and he hadn't. I found
out that at one time he had been in gaol for burglary. No wonder he
took my diamond necklace. I want him caught and punished. I have
always spoken well of him all these years for the children's sake, but
I have never forgotten his brutal ways, Mr. Tracey." In real earnest,
she laid her fat hand on his arm. "That man struck me. He spent my
money; he made love to the servants. He was all that was bad--a thief,
a liar, a profligate, a----"
"That's all right," said Luther soothingly, and led her back to her
seat, where she sat and sobbed. "The man was a bad egg. In that case
let him alone, for the children's sake. Can he touch your money?"
"No. Gerty's father left it all in my own name. I am free of him in
every way."
"Then you let him alone. He has deserted you for over seven years, so
he can't come back to make things unpleasant, and----"
"Let him come," said Mrs. Baldwin viciously. "I want him to come.
I'll make things unpleasant for him--the brute."
"But you never said anything of this before, ma'am?"
"No," replied the woman heavily. "Because he passed out of my memory,
so to speak. But when I saw his face at the window, it all came back
to me--all--all. I want him caught and punished;" she caught Tracey's
arm. "He is a burglar, mind, and he may break into my house and kill
me. You don't know what a scoundrel he is."
"Yet you always gave us to understand that he was a good sort."
"For the children's sake. That's why I sent Gerty out of the room. I
don't want her to know, although he is no kith or kin of hers."
"Then you leave things as they are, ma'am, for the children's sake."
"No," said Mrs. Baldwin, between her teeth. "If I catch him, and the
law won't punish him, I'll do so myself. I'll keep a pistol by me.
I'll shoot him if he attempts to enter my house! Yes, I will."
"Tracey was amazed at the change in the woman. The lazy, good-natured
creature he knew was gone, and in her place stood a woman as
vindictive as the adventuress of an Adelphi drama. He asked for a
description of Rufus Baldwin, but by this time Mrs. Baldwin had
changed her mind.
"No, I shan't tell you any more," she said quietly. "You forget what I
have said. Don't advertise. The law won't punish him, and I dare say
my diamond necklace has gone to pieces by this time. I'll keep a
pistol beside me, and shoot him if he comes."
"No! no! He won't come again."
"Yes he will. He came the other night. I saw him at the window. I
cried out at the sight of his wicked face. But I won't scare him away
next time. No, I'll wait and let him come near me, then I'll kill him.
That's what I'll do," and then she began gradually to relapse into the
lazy woman who had entered. "How hot it is."
In compliance with her request Tracey went out to call Gerty. He was
astonished by the sudden changes in Mrs. Baldwin's demeanour, and
asked Gerty a question. "Say, does your momma drink?"
"No. Certainly not, Luther. Why do you ask?"
"Well, she's that queer."
"Something has upset her, I know," said Gerty quickly; "what is it?"
Mrs. Baldwin appeared at the door and answered that question. "Don't
tell her," she said sharply. "Gerty dear, you are too inquisitive. I
am upset by the appearance of Rufus--that's all."
"Is Luther to advertise?" asked Gerty, wondering.
"No," Mrs. Baldwin walked to the gate, "I have a better way than
that--a much better way," and she opened the gate.
"Say," Tracey detained Gerty, "do you sleep in your mother's room?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
"Because she's got a kind of craze about that husband of hers. You
make some excuse and sleep in her room for a week or so till she
forgets that the man came back. And if you see anything queer wire me,
I'll be down in a shake. You catch on, Gerty B.?"
"No. What do you----"
Before Tracey could reply Mrs. Baldwin hailed them. "Here's Mr.
Calvert. Gerty, come away," so the girl reluctantly had to go to her
mother, but not before she whispered Tracey to write and explain.
"Can't, my dear," he whispered back uneasily. "I promised to hold my
tongue. But keep an eye on your mother. Now do."
"There was no time to say any more, as Mrs. Baldwin was coming up the
path with Arnold. She was telling him of her sufferings at great
length, and nothing remained of the virago who had displayed such
fierceness in the white room, save an unusually high colour. Tracey
nodded to Calvert, who looked rather excited. Then came the toil of
getting Mrs. Baldwin away, which took as long a time as it usually
does to launch a ship. At last the cab drove off, and Gerty waved a
farewell handkerchief to Tracey. Then the young men went into the
house.
"I don't envy you Mrs. Baldwin, Tracey," said Calvert.
"I guess you've hit the bull's-eye," replied the American gloomily;
"she's not such a fool as she looks, that old ma'am."
"Oh, she doesn't look a fool," said Arnold easily, "only lazy."
"And she ain't that neither. I guess there's spirit in the old party.
You could have knocked me down flat when she rose on her hind legs."
"Was she--er--on her hind legs?" inquired Calvert delicately.
"Considerable! But it's private business. Only I hope I won't be mixed
up with another murder case. One's good enough for me, anyhow!"
"Do you mean to say----" began Arnold startled.
"That she knows anything to the circus we're running? No, I don't.
She's got her own little Sheol--sulphur, match, and all. Let her
slide. I dare say it's all bunkum."
"What is?"
"Calvert, if you ask any more questions I'll chuck the case."
"Oh, beg pardon," said Arnold, astonished at seeing the usually
good-tempered man so roused, "don't mind my asking questions. I forgot
the business was private."
"Won't be long," said Tracey savagely, "if she's on the kind of job
she's trying to carry out. Well," he raised his voice, "what's the
best news with you?"
"This," replied Calvert quietly, and from his pocket produced a scrap
of paper. Tracey without displaying any wonder looked at it. It was
half a sheet of pink writing-paper and contained only one line written
across lengthways. "If you get the money look under the coffee stain!"
Tracey read and re-read this, then raised his puzzled eyes. "What's
this, Calvert?"
"That," replied the young man calmly, "is a piece of paper which I
received from Merry this morning!"
"Was it enclosed in an envelope?"
"Arnold handed the envelope which he was holding. It was addressed to
'Arnold Calvert' in a woman's hand of the sloping Italian kind. The
writing on the paper was also in the same handwriting. I guess as
Merry gave you this, and it's a woman's hand, that it comes from your
dead cousin," said Tracey.
"I thought so!"
"Didn't she give it to Merry?"
"No, I went to the office this morning to look at some deeds connected
with the property. They had to turn out the deed-box. It is large and
hadn't been turned out to the very bottom for some time. As we
searched, Merry picked up that envelope which was closed. He gave it
to me. Merry says he never saw it before, so I expect poor Flora
slipped it into the box one day when he was out of the room."
"But why should she do that?"
"I am as puzzled to account for her reason as I am to know what the
message means."
"Can't Merry enlighten you?"
"No. I tell you he never saw the envelope till he handed it to me."
"Hold on a shake," said Tracey, handing Calvert a cigarette; "smoke
this while I get my thinking-machine into order."
"You'll find it difficult to guess what it is," said Calvert, lighting
up. "Merry and I were an hour over it this morning. He doesn't know
what it means, and I'm sure I don't."
"You must be a couple of thick-heads," snapped Tracey, whose temper
was not improved by Mrs. Baldwin's visit; "the way it's worded shows
that Mrs. Brand expected to be killed."
Arnold started to his feet. "What do you say?"
"Mrs. Brand expected to be killed," said the American, with great
distinctness; "she says, 'if you get the money'--well, you couldn't
get the money till she was dead."
"No, but what does the message mean?"
Tracey laid the paper on his knees and looked across Calvert's
shoulder with his bright eyes dancing. "Oh, I guess it's panning out
all square," said he quietly; "I came here as you know in the hope of
finding some papers overlooked by that man--or woman--I guess it was a
woman--who made hay while the house was deserted. Evidently the idea
was to destroy all trace of your cousin's past life. Well, sir, I
hunted everywhere without success. Now we'll look for the coffee
stain, and under it we will find some papers which will give the whole
show away. We're on the verge of learning the truth, sir."
"Then you think that, expecting to be murdered, she hid certain papers
giving a clue to her probable assassin?"
"Yes I do, and the poor soul dared not put the message plainer, lest
it should fall into other hands than yours."
"Whose hands, seeing that I am the heir?"
"You forget that Bocaros was the heir for a time. He might have got
hold of the deed-box, and then"--Tracey shrugged his shoulders--"It's
as plain as day to me!"
"But do you suspect Bocaros of knowing anything of this crime?"
"No. He talked too much nonsense at the outset for that. He gave
himself away--always supposing he was guilty. Said that he lived in
the neighbourhood--that the money was coming to him--that he could
easily have gone to the villa and killed Mrs. Brand and would not be
able to prove an _alibi_ by reason of living alone. No! A man who is
guilty doesn't give himself away like that. But Bocaros, had he found
this message, might have torn it up so as to let sleeping dogs lie."
"Still I don't understand."
"Well, you see he might have fancied--as I do--that a discovery of the
papers may lead to the implication of the husband in this matter."
"You think Brand killed his wife?"
"No. It was a woman, and I believe Mrs. Fane for choice. But Brand may
have loved Mrs. Fane and so the whole trouble may have arisen. I guess
Mrs. Brand was glad to see her husband start for Australia, for I'm
certain from this message that he threatened to kill her. Bocaros
having got the money, and thinking of his living near Ajax Villa,
might have torn it up. Now Mrs. Brand if she was murdered--as she
was--wished the assassin to be brought to justice. The concealed
papers will give the clue." Tracey rose and looked round the room.
"Where the deuce are they, anyhow?"
"Under the coffee stain," said Arnold, not rising, "and I think
instead of hunting we had better reason the matter out. A coffee-stain
would naturally be on a table-cloth."
"A white dinner table-cloth," assented Tracey sitting, "but she
couldn't conceal papers there. I've lifted every cloth in the house
white and otherwise--there's white ones here as you see--but I
couldn't find anything. You needn't look at the roof, Calvert. The
coffee-stain won't be there."
"No," said Arnold looking down, "it may be on the wall.
"Not unless Brand threw a cup at her head." Tracey glanced round the
walls; they were all spotless and white. "Maybe on the carpet."
"Have you examined the carpets?"
"I haven't lifted them, if that's what you mean."
"Then I dare say the papers are hidden under the carpet of this room."
"Why here? It may be the dining-room, or----"
"No," replied Arnold rising, "a coffee-stain would show only on a
white carpet, and it was the peculiar furnishing of this room which
gave her the idea of the hiding-place"--he looked carefully at the
floor--"but I can't see any stain."
"A woman like Mrs. Brand," suggested Tracey, "proud of the smartness
of this room, would hide any stain. Let's move all mats and
furniture."
Calvert thought this was a good suggestion, and they set to work. The
piano was moved, but needless to say nothing was found there. The
various draperies were pulled aside. A book-case was shifted. All the
mats were flung out of the door. When they moved everything, still no
stain appeared. Then they came to a thick wooden pedestal bearing a
plaster-of-paris Venus. It was screwed to the floor near the window
and surrounded by mats. "This is the last chance," said Tracey.
A few minutes' work sufficed to overturn the column. There, beneath
it, and concealed by the base, was the coffee-stain spoiling the
purity of the carpet. Tracey produced a large knife, and ripped up the
carpet. Thrusting in his hand he pulled out a slim green book rather
large in size, and thereon in gilt letters were the words "My Diary!"
"This solves the mystery," said Tracey quietly, "now we'll learn the
truth."